MIAMI – There will be plenty of stakes sitting neatly in piles on the Super Bowl table late this afternoon, when the world gathers at Dolphin Stadium and Bears vs. Colts will be decided once and for all.

Peyton Manning’s legacy is a big one, of course, right alongside Tony Dungy firming up his Hall of Fame dossier, right alongside the Vince Lombardi Trophy, right alongside the stack of winner’s checks, right alongside the tons of glittery confetti, separated by team colors, that’ll joyfully fill the South Florida sky sometime after the final gun.

All of those things are relatively temporary spoils, though, relatively transient, and in the big picture, relatively small potatoes. Because there really is only one slice of immortality available to the one lucky player among the 92 who will be dressed and ready to spill blood for the cause today. And that is this:

At some point today, somebody will do something – good, bad, costly or heroic – that will be immortalized in super-super-duper slow motion by the 72,000 or so cameras that will be spinning in the name of NFL Films.

When that happens – and it will happen, it’s just a matter of who, what, when, where, why and how it happens – that player, and that moment, will become a part of every Super Bowl celebration from now until the end of time. As Joe Willie Namath – captured in one of the first-ever such moments, during his eternal, index-finger waving departure from the Orange Bowl after Super Bowl III – might sum it up: I guarantee it.

There has never been an invention quite like NFL Films, the Sabol family’s perpetual gift to popular sporting culture, an invention that started its life as a mom-and-pop operation in Philadelphia and has grown to be the NFL’s unparalleled town crier, the definitive way in which any NFL story is ever to be told.

Any NFL fan can hum the songs from the NFL soundtrack that have defined so many highlight reels. Any NFL fan can utter the following sentence to any other NFL fan – “The autumn wind is a pirate, blustering in from the sea … ” and be greeted with a knowing nod, mostly because any NFL fan understands that when the time comes to meet his or her maker, that maker will have a voice that sounds eerily and undeniably like John Facenda’s. And any NFL fan can instantly recite the holy mantras of NFL Films: “You over-officious jerk!” “They’re KILLING me, Whitey!” “Everyone’s grabbing! Nobody’s tackling! Grab! Grab! Grab!”

But nothing – nothing – captures the seminal moment at a Super Bowl – literally captures it, slows it down, holds it hostage for what seems like an eternity and a half – like the NFL Films cameras do. And every Super Bowl, every one, ultimately gets that moment.

One of those lookalike Cowboys defenders – Chuck Howley, Bob Lilly, one of those guys – tossing his helmet in fury after Jim O’Brien kicked the game-winner at the end of Super Bowl V (not surprisingly, when Kyle Turley did the same thing to Damien Robinson’s helmet a few years back during a regular-season game, it wasn’t captured, or remembered, quite so romantically).

Larry Csonka bulling over the goal line during Super Bowl VIII, slowly coming to rest just as his shoulder pad nestles up tight to the goal post.

Lynn Swann making what may well be the single-best reception in the history of the Super Bowl – and likely the most watched and rewatched catch in the history of the sport – all while bouncing his knee on Mark Washington’s chest in Super Bowl X.

Willie Brown’s interception and subsequent return of a Fran Tarkenton pass in Super Bowl XI, a play that spanned 75 yards and probably took eight or nine seconds in real time but thanks to NFL Films plays out languidly – and elegantly, and with a tight-in shot of Willie’s face – for close to 17 or 18 seconds in reel time.

I could go and list all 40 of them, but you get the idea, and if you’re like me you’ve already scoured the appropriate channels – ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN Classic, NFL Network, whatever – hoping to land in the middle of a marathon showing of these things.

By the close of business today, we’ll have another moment to add to the close-up of Jeff Hostetler keeping his grip on the ball as he falls in the end zone, and of Simms-to-Bavaro-to-McConkey, and of John Riggins’ run, and Marcus Allen’s run, and Roger Craig’s run.

Will it be a tight close up of some 70-yard Peyton Manning spiral? Brian Urlacher knocking Joseph Addai’s helmet off? Adam Vinatieri adding to his personal NFL Films scrapbook at the final gun? Lovie Smith adding a coach’s voice to the NFL Films pantheon of Marv Levy, Lou Saban and Vince Lombardi? We’ll know soon enough.

And then we’ll never, ever, ever be able to forget.

Mike Vaccaro’s e-mail address is michael.vaccaro@nypost.com. His latest book, in stores this spring, is titled “1941: The Greatest Year in Sports.”